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Piermont Letter 2
The following letter was written by Rev Piermont to his wife just before he left the Bulwark via the West Gate. Letter Dearest Mary, I have never been so happy for a long winded, overly meticulous functionary in my life. No. I'm not talking about the doctor. I have just completed my paperwork, actually I had to do it twice because I wasn't clear about being from Bark River, at the Old Ford gate. The gate officer recorded notes on nearly every aspect of my person, some of which seemed to be for our required paperwork, other parts seemed to make it into his personal log. it was practically an inquisition. In the time of long suffering in this office, I spent the pauses between questions noticing he had a pros and cons list of adjusting his diet and observing him count precisely fourteen letters between dips of the pen. I imagine he might have seen me smiling when I imagined the interactions he and Doc would share, which meant I would have time to compose this very correspondence. Yesterday my unit received orders from Lieutenant Giles which would take us to the other side of the Bulwark. I think he felt bad, not about the danger of the area he was sending us into, but that it was the eve before the Summer Solstice. That he would be separating us from our family. I was moved by the thought, I wanted to just enjoy dinner with you at your sister's house, but I respected your wishes. Instead I spent the eve doing what I had done in years past, finding a place to read the scriptures and give little gifts to the kids who would sit and listen. I selected the Wilken's Barrel, because I remembered it was the place you would order our specials from. With every ring of the bell, which would happen as the door swung open or closed, I would see you stepping into the store, but of course it was never really you. I would try my best to hide my disappointment and return to my reading until the bell would ring again. The yarns these people would tell, not knowing they were within my hearing, are completely wrong. They have built me up to be some hero, but I am not. The incident at the farm was difficult and sad, but not heroic. They whisper about how the bullets pass around me, like lions who refused to tear into a prophet, as if the one true God had shielded me. I suppose in a way he did, but I know not why. I have never been less worthy. I would take a biting word from you over their misplaced praise, if given the choice. This morn we arrived to the station early, the four of us and fifth, Wyatt, who was to be sent with it. I am not sure what is to be said about Wyatt. He is from Red River, but doesn't seem quick to judge, like that lot usually is. He is young, but did mention he had no family left alive. I don't know if this is some cover for nefarious purpose, or if this has just been his sad fate. I'll say he didn't look all that broken up about it. I don't have to explain to you why, but I won't be placing my life in this man's hands. Why they would send this outsider with us into such dangerous territory, I am not sure. The walk to the gate today was beautiful, leaving us all a little sun kissed. It gave me time to talk to Isaiah and Lamont a little about the holiday and a little about our assignment and a little to have them watch Red. He doesn't have to rattle to be poisonous. As we approached the gate, I noticed the number of people around was higher than usual. It took me a while to figure out why, but of course they were there for the celebration. Mary, I don't know if I ever told you this, but I remember as a child not knowing more than the first first of How Mighty is the Bulwark, so I would just sing it over and over again. I was proud. I guess I still am. It would draw the attention of the savages and I would watch my Dad and Uncles, and so many other children's Dads and Uncles, thin the ranks of savages. It was brutal and fascinating. I hope we are far from the Bulwark when the singing begins. The doctor has walked out and back into the gate office no less than half a dozen times, so I suspect I need to wrap this up and tell him to get a move on. I don't know for sure when I will be able to write again, much less when I will have access to the post, but I am hoping to be back in Bark River in three days. It would mean a lot to me if you would make use of our home while I am away. Your Loving Husband, Piermont